Page 76 of The Assassin's Captive
He serves the carbonara on simple white plates, adding fresh pepper and more cheese. We sit at his small dining table, the fire crackling in the next room, rain still pattering against the windows. The pasta is perfect—creamy and rich, with just enough bite from the pepper.
"This is incredible," I tell him after the first bite.
"My mother's recipe." The admission comes out quietly. "One of the few things I remember about her."
I reach across the table to cover his hand with mine. "Tell me about her."
"Beautiful. Kind. Too good for the life she got stuck with." He turns his hand palm up, threading our fingers together. "She died when I was eight. Cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago." He squeezes my hand. "But she would have loved you. Strong women always impressed her."
We eat in comfortable quiet after that, the intimacy of shared food and honest conversation settling around us. Lorenzo's house feels warm and safe.
"What happens tomorrow?" I ask as he refills my wine glass.
"Tomorrow, we start building your new life. New identity documents, security briefings, introduction to key family members." He pauses, considering. "It won't be easy. There will be people who resent your position, who see you as an outsider trying to claim power you haven't earned."
"And you'll be there?"
"Every step." He lifts his wine glass in a toast. "To new beginnings."
I clink my glass against his. "To belonging to each other."
"To belonging to each other," he echoes, and the promise in his voice makes me believe that whatever comes next, we'll face it together.
32
LORENZO
The carbonara disappears from our plates as I walk Serena through the new reality of her existence. She listens carefully, asking sharp questions that prove she understands the gravity of what she's accepted.
"Emilio wants you moved to a secure property within the week," I tell her, refilling her wine glass. "The apartment near the Forum is compromised. Too many people know about it now."
She nods, swirling the red wine in her glass. "Where?"
"There are three options. A penthouse in Parioli with panoramic views and elevator access directly to an underground garage. A villa in the Appia Antica with extensive grounds and multiple escape routes. Or a converted palazzo near the Spanish Steps with historical significance and modern security systems."
"You've been planning this."
"I've been planning contingencies since the day I found out you're his blood." I cut another piece of the bread I'd warmed in the oven. "The penthouse offers urban anonymity. The villa provides isolation and defensibility. The palazzo gives you prestige and sends a message about your status in the family."
She considers this, legal mind working through implications I can see forming behind her dark eyes. "What would you choose?"
"The villa. Harder to approach undetected, easier to secure completely." I pause, meeting her gaze. "But you're not me. You might prefer the accessibility of the city."
"No. You're right about the villa." She takes a sip of wine. "What about staff?"
"Emilio is reassigning three of his most trusted people. A housekeeper who's been with the family for fifteen years, a driver with military background, and a cook who understands dietary restrictions and security protocols." I tick off each position on my fingers. "All of them have been vetted multiple times. All of them understand the consequences of betrayal."
The fire crackles in the next room, sending warm light dancing across the dining room walls. Outside, the rain continues its steady rhythm against the windows. The domestic normalcy of the scene contrasts sharply with the conversation we're having, but that's the nature of this life—violence and tenderness existing in the same space.
"What about my current cases?"
"You'll need to transfer active litigation to other attorneys. Emilio expects a clean break from your previous professional identity." I watch her face carefully. "That includes the cases against organized crime figures."
Her jaw tightens slightly. "All of them?"
